


Remembering You

by ArtyHardEdison



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Arguing, F/M, Fluff, Kidnapping, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtyHardEdison/pseuds/ArtyHardEdison
Summary: After presuming him dead for years, Qymaen has come to take you to his masters.
Relationships: Grievous | Qymaen jai Sheelal/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	Remembering You

Your wrists remained bound tight in your lap in a shackle that fits around you perfectly. You sat in silence, a prisoner on a small vessel meant to carry only a few. For today, it transported just you and him.

Him, was your captor. Piloting the ship from the cockpit, a thick steel door blocking any chance to see the man he’d become.

You’d presumed Qymaen dead years ago, that’s what all the reports had said. Blown up on his ship, along with the rest of his people. You’d mourned his death for months; to hear him alive would’ve been a dream come true. But it wasn’t, you found yourself sick at the thought of it.

He hadn’t spoken a word to you since your capture. Normally the kidnapping of a queen would involve bloodshed as large as any war. You instead, let yourself be taken willingly. Your people, your men, were too important for a Sith attack dog to cut them down in your name.

Qymaen stole into your quarters in broad daylight. You hadn’t been sure how, as two guards remained posted outside of your door at all hours. He demanded your surrender, for you to accompany him back to his master. You resisted at first, ready to fight if you had to. But with his assurance he’d slaughter your entire planet before he’d leave without you, you relented. You advised your men to stand down and left to what was quite possibly your doom.

Despite the reality of the situation you were in; trapped in a ship with a verifiable war criminal, you still held your head high. Your back was straight, face impassive. Ready to take on whatever was to happen with the noble demeanor you practiced your whole life.

Inside you buzzed with anxiety. You worried for your people, their lives now placed in the devious hands of the Sith. Even with your complacency, there was no assurance your planet wouldn’t be razed like so many civilizations before. You prayed to the gods above you would save them.

There was a coughing from beyond the door, then a wheeze, the only sign that who had taken you was even living. The door slid open, revealing the too tall heap of metal and machinery that Qymaen now was.

He approached you, taking just two steps to clear the expanse between you. He was heavy; your seating, a bench, vibrated with those steps. You looked down to feet now turned talons, he could crush you with any extremity with ease. Why he hadn’t yet left you curious.

“Qymaen.” You greeted with a coolness of a dignitary who was forced to remain dignified.

He made no efforts to hide his sheer size, towering over you, making it so you had to look up to gaze upon a face that once matched a mask you knew well. You made no effort to look up yet, staring ahead, in front of you was his chest, hard and unrelenting. You wondered what was left of him on the inside of that shell.

He didn’t seem to like your small display of defiance, his arm swinging from behind him and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head back and your eyes on his. His fingers, all six, pressed firm into your face.

“Oh, so you remember me?” Even behind the sound of a voice modulator, you could hear him, his accent was distinct, what you knew to be only from Kalee.

“Barely.” You replied, venom dripping from your lips with it. If he wasn’t to be civil, you didn’t wish to continue either.

He growled, removing his hand from your jaw, cold fingers leaving angry red marks against your skin. He took a step back and began to pace, a hard task as his body swallowed nearly the entire cabin, “Your insolence will get you nowhere.”

You chose not to watch him, instead you cast your gaze to the still open cockpit. Perhaps you could get your way past him and into the cockpit. If you managed to get to the controls you could crash the two of you. His death could save so many.

“I don’t imagine kindness giving me much headway either, Qymaen.” You spat his name out like it was poison. 

You’d known of Grievous, an unrelenting General who destroyed all in his path. You hadn’t realized him and Qymaen were one in the same up until he took you. 

You didn’t dare dignify his status as the Sith General. He was a war criminal, having thrown away all he cared for glory. Why he ended up around you again, was beyond you, but seeing him all you could think of was how he was better off dead.

“If not for your importance to this mission I would have killed you.” He spat back, stopping to watch you. He looked through you to see your fear. It took everything in you to not cower. No matter how much hate you felt for the man in front of you, terror still poured through you. It took everything in you not to show him that, you wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction.

“Importance to whom? Your master?” Master, you laughed. So much like a dog he was now. Whatever this was in front of him was barely living. And even less so the warrior you knew, “Or you?”

He was quick to respond, his face pressed close to yours, your breath puffing against his face, “You’ve little importance to me.”

“You wish that to be true, don’t you?”

A hard smack came across your face, your head whipping to the side as your ears rang. You remained upright, but a whimper left your lips. He would’ve never done this before. Not when he was Qymaen. Your Qymaen.

When hitting you wasn’t enough, he grabbed you by the collar of your robes and hoisted you up, pressing your back into the wall with little effort at all. Rage soaked through him, pitch black pupils turned into barely there slices in the center of a sea of gold. His eyes were once your favorite thing about him, now you feared what laid beneath.

How easy he was to anger. This was a trait he always held, but never this rash. And never pointed at you.

That fear sank past your demeanor and your bottom lip quivered, you cursed yourself for this weakness.

He saw this unease in you and laughed. Laughed. “You do your best to be strong. But we know you are weak.”

With the admittance of your dread on the table, he released you, your body plopping down hard back onto the unforgiving bench below. He turned back to pacing. The anger in his step gave way to some kind of sick delight at having you caught. “You have always been weak. You care too much for your people, for me. And that has always stopped you from doing what must be done.”

“What must be done?” You called out, still holding onto your defiance. That was the only thing you were allowed to keep with you.

“If you chose to fight, you might have saved yourself.” Did he wish you to be saved? “But your bonds -your attachments- to me, have kept you weak. You and your people could have fought. They were once warriors, but you’ve beat any honor from them.”

So long ago, your people fought to help the Kaleesh against their attackers. Both your species side to side. Around the time you’d lost Qymaen and the Sith took over, your forces looked inward. Protecting themselves.

You no longer saw a point in war, though your people rarely did. You’d fought to defend, but when the Sith came, the defense needed to be on your home. Maybe you had grown weak and crippled your planet in the process. How easy it was for him to find you and take you.

You refused to look at him once again, trying hard to glue back together the pieces of your poise but you felt yourself slowly coming apart. A part of you, no matter how wretched, wished to see the last flames of a man you knew so intimately. You missed him -missed the person you were when tangible. But you feared Qymaen really did die, and this monster he now was took his place.

“Qymaen…” You whispered, your mouth barely moved. Your fingers worked anxiety out of your palms. “What have you become?”

This stopped his pacing, turning to you. For just a second, he said nothing, as if to truly ponder your question, “I am stronger now.” Was his reply, not a statement of triumph, merely a fact he knew.

You finally looked at him, seeing a frame no longer a person. No warmth, or soft touch. Whatever he was was replaced with machinery only ever meant to harm. He was no man, “You’re a monster.”

He didn’t say anything back, watching you. You continued, “You kill for the glory of your leaders. These men who use you as a puppet. You’ve no power, you’re merely a pawn to do their bidding. Can’t you see that they’re using you?”

Your dignity thrown to the wind, you looked to him with pleading eyes. Because in that shell there had to be something of him. You wanted to see him in his eyes again, you just had to push.

“You were a warrior once, Qymaen. You brought such glory and peace to your people. You saved them.” Your mouth trembled around the words, memories of him flooding back into your aching skull. “What happened to you?”

He didn’t react in violence, which was what you had come to expect. Instead, he looked to take heed in what you said. His face was unable to give anything away, but eyes searched for something within you. You hoped whatever he found, it was enough.

“The Jedi stole everything from me.” Was his final answer, the sound of him sending vibrations through your bones.

“The Sith are abusing what is left.” You rebutted. He growled, grumbling to himself something unintelligible. “They’ll take everything, do you think your people will accept this?”

He froze up, shoulders raised and stiff. The Kaleesh didn’t back down, and if someone came to invade once again, they’d fight. Grievous knew they would die.

You watched as he stood before you. Questioning himself. Maybe he still had attachments.

Did that attachment still connect you to him?

Those years as partners and then lovers. Days spent together where the two of you couldn’t seem to seperate. Did he remember the devotion you declared for each other? Could he still feel your skin where his used to be? Did he still love you, like he swore he would a million times over?

You risked it because it was the last time you could. You stood from the bench, robes swaying around you as you approached him. He didn’t notice you until your hand was outstretched before him. You swore you could see him hesitate, move back by a fraction.

You didn’t know the circumstances of his cybernetics. You’d imagine the torture it was to find yourself in a body not your own. Could he still feel? If he could, you imagined what your touch would do to him.

He appeared to wonder the same thing. The same hand that struck you reached out to touch yours. His movements were calculated, perhaps trying to find reasons to reject you. You didn’t coax him, only leaning on faith up until smooth white fingertips skimmed over yours.

His touch pressed further into your hand until his palm eclipsed yours. Your fingers curled, gentle to feel the new hand of your old lover. Steel smooth with tiny nicks letting you know he wasn’t infallible. Most surprisingly of all, you felt warmth. His touch ran warm where you expected to be chilled.

Your free hand joined the tangle you made of your fingers, tracing the split down the center of his hand. You gasped softly when his hand split in two. One half reached up and slid over your jaw, the slight sting of his mark made you flinch. He pulled his hand back quickly, nearly retreating into himself before you held the hand still in yours tight, pressing it to your chest.

The loud thump of your heart beat against the back of his palm. Somehow it still felt like him, your heart couldn’t tell the difference. You found, despite the mechanical appearance before you, something very much mortal. He didn’t resist your silent calls to him, his fingers pressing gently into the exposed skin your robes left on your chest.

“Can you feel me?” You whispered, seeking answers in a face unable to give anything away.

He nodded in response, a finger softly tapping on your collarbone, rythmic to your heart beat. Chills rolled through your body, barely keeping you upright. Qymaen proceeded forward, his digits slipping up your neck to press across the line of your jaw, while the rest of him unfolded and wrapped around you. His arms unyielding, no skin to press and fold against the shape of you, but it still, somehow, felt like the embrace of your lover.

How did it come to this?

You leaned upward, your fingers finding perfect holds against his collar, pulling him down towards you. Your mouth skimmed where his cheek would have been. You felt no need to tell him how much you missed him, because you wanted to paint it onto him with all of you.

“Tell me you’ll stay.” You murmured, fingers curling deeper against him to keep him close.

Two of his hands reached up to find hold on your face, feeling over skin that could only ever belong to him. You wondered if he wanted to kiss you. You hurt knowing he never could. Instead you kissed him, so gently it was barely there at all.

“Qymaen, please don’t break my heart again.” Your voice strained at the thought. You couldn’t survive without him, not again. Your heart fell, sinking deep into the pitch black hole in your stomach. To be alone again, to have him disappear, was too much for you even now. “Please.”

You didn’t know you were slipping until he held you up, your body finding a new molding against him, with foreheads pressed together. You’d been so wrapped up in heat and love that you almost didn’t notice the heavy, deep beat of his own heart.

He was still there, in this shell that would be enough for you.

“I swore to not leave your side.” He finally replied, breaking you from the haze you trapped yourself in. One of his hands found yours and laced tight between your fingers. Despite half a hand, it still managed to dwarf yours, “I will not break that promise again.”

Gods above, it was enough for you. You kissed him hard, lips crushing into the smoothest durasteel you ever felt. You kissed him like you should have so long ago, because he would always find you. You would always be his, and him yours.

Qymaen met you with the same vigor. While unable to meet the kiss with a passion the forever roared within him, he spent equal energy exploring and conquering the expanse of your skin. At first it was your waist, then thighs, pushing deep into the give of your body. Then he slipped past the robe hanging off of your torso, sleeves pooling off your shoulders onto your forearms. Leaving the soft flesh of your chest burning and exposed.

Years of training to your status expected you to be demure while a warrior like him found your nakedness pulling him forward. But there wasn’t a game you found needed. Instead, you let him watch, the swell of your breasts growing firm in the cold air. You slipped your gowns past your arms, the silken cloths stopping at your hips and he took it upon himself to strip you completely.

Even with stories to have before of your exposed body standing before him, he still looked at you as if you were the only wonder in the universe. His eyes shimmered gold, like a quasar sucking you in. And for a moment, it was like his death never happened, it was just Qymaen here again to have you, and not a thing mattered.

Hard, hot hands gripped you and pulled you weightless against him. You gasped as you felt warmth overtake you. Your hands felt useless to reciprocate just how badly you wanted him somehow closer. Instead your legs wrapped around his waist while he felt you up.

While he couldn’t kiss you, the soft hum coming off his faceplate tremored against the tender flesh of your neck. Ripping goosebumps and need through your chest and tremoring deep into your core.

“Please.” You begged breathless, you needed him closer or you feared your spirit would burst from the agony of him not possessing every inch of you.

He took you cry in stride, fingers digging deep into your thigh to keep you on him now seeked the slick of your sex. When he found it, some kind of rattle went through him. Pleasure, you realized. A feeling he still somehow still had only enhanced yours. Your hips rolled exposing more of your folds to his exploring fingertips.

You whispered his name, barely making a sound at all past needing whimpers. He pressed deeper, two fingers slipping into your entrance, finding silk walls gripping and pulsing around him.

A growl fell out of him, remembering so perfectly the feeling of you before. With barely any movement at all, you felt yourself already slipping. It’d been so long since you’d had him, the gentlest of prodding proved to be an easy weapon against your decency.

But this wasn’t enough for him, he carried you back to the bench you were once sat as prisoner. Setting you down and taking no time to find space between your legs. His face leaned close, humming against your neck with a fang poking deep into your breast. You squirmed but he held your hips firm. Fingers found their way back into your dripping sex, his thumb skirting around your clit as two fingers found their way back into your weeping core.

You moaned, long and without breath. You were lost in the feel of him enclosed around you. His finger began to move, pumping slow but deep. He took his time feeling you, soaking you in lust as he teased the softest spot within you. Never pressing deep enough to pull you into orgasm, but so damn close.

“I love you, Qymaen.” You gasped, longing and ecstasy shredding your voice hoarse.

What kisses and fondling you couldn’t do, that simple sentence that felt so easy to you, seemed to do a number on him. His entire frame rattled noisily around you. That half growl, half moan shuddered down your neck, squeezing your heart tight before firing lighting right into your core.

You back arched to feel more of him. His hands no longer teasing, but massaging your clit and deep into the spot that was going to send you home. As pleasure roared through you, you barely noticed him groaning your own name, declaring his devotion and love to you.

You grabbed him by the face, in these short moments it became a face you loved so intensely. His eyes swam with something you could only imagine to be climax, and you knew yours was just on the horizon. You kissed him again between the eyes. Stifling your cries as orgasm found you, pulsing through you deep and nearly violent. Your ears rang, heart punching against your chest.

Distantly, you could hear him growling, gritting through something a cyborg body wasn’t built to do. You didn’t know if he hurt as he held you tight, crashing through waves and spasms you pressed into each other. 

Finally, when the galaxy came back into focus and lust no longer choked your lungs did he pull away. With a hand not covered in the essence of you he smoothed over your hurt cheek.

“I’m sorry, my love.” He breathed, pain in his eyes where you just saw indescribable love.

You took his hand, kissing his fingers, “A lover’s quarrel, and nothing else.” You assured, finding a smile curling on the ends of your mouth. 

He nodded, not believing you, but taking your word for it for the time. He reached across his chest, unclasping the cloak still attached to him before casting it on your cooling body. He was still so careful of you, you couldn’t help but feel your smile widen.

Still, a nagging worry still chewed at the edges of your mind, “What now?” You asked, the fate of you and nearly everything now in his hands.

He considered his options in the short time you gave him. “I will take you home.” He replied, smoothing hair away from your face. “And I will begin to fix what I’ve done.”

You nodded, accepting his answer as he was never one to lie to you. “I wish to help.” 

He pulled you close for a moment, nuzzling his forehead to yours and sending your heart aflutter, “You do not understand how much you have already, my love.”


End file.
